Such A Lie
by Queen Of Dead Hearts
Summary: I'd always known my life was destined to be strange. The story of my life was never supposed to be like this though. It was never supposed to be about vampires.
1. Preface

**Preface**

My life had been on track. It was one twisted railroad with an unknown destination. But still, things were more or less going my way. Things had changed though. Somewhere things had stopped following their right path. Somewhere, things had gotten out of hand.

I liked to be in control of the situation. I liked to have a handle on things. I liked to know where things were going and how they were going to get there. I liked to be the ring master in my own circus. But that was the problem. I wasn't in charge of my own life anymore. _He _was. Even if he hadn't realized it yet. Even if he never realized it.

My life had always been destined to be chaotic and strange. It was inevitable. From the day I was born I was marked to be a freak of nature. I'd accepted that that was the way my life would be a long, long time ago.

I'd known my life was doomed for abnormality from day one, but I never imagined it would turn out like this. Sure, I knew it would be dark and dangerous. Sick and twisted too. Probably frightening and alien to most as well.

But still, the story of my life was never supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be about vampires.


	2. Step One: Suck It Up

**Step One: Suck It Up**

"This better be important," I said as I took my seat at the long oval table.  
"It is," Drana assured me.

"So . . . what is it?" I asked, examining the faces of everyone seated around the table. They didn't reveal whether the cause of this meeting was positive or negative.  
"We have a new assignment for you," she informed me.

"That's it?" I demanded, "You could've just called."  
"This is too important to risk being overheard," she said.

"What? You think someone's gonna tap the phone lines?" I asked sarcastically. The blank faces in response were signs that that was exactly what they thought.  
"We have to be careful," Drana said slowly.

"Well . . . What is this big bad new assignment," I wondered.  
"Have you ever heard of the Stryker family?" she asked.

"Hasn't everyone?" I quipped flippantly.  
"Well the point is they're moving to our fair city," she told me.

"Duh . . . Liam Stryker just bought the Yankees . . . If that's not reason enough to move to New York City nothing is . . ." I muttered.  
"Yes, it makes sense and all, which makes it the perfect alibi. We have reason to believe the Stryker family is involved in some shady business that has drawn them to New York."

"What kind of 'buisness?'" I asked suspiciously.  
"We're not one hundred percent sure. But the evidence is all there. They move around constantly and have bailed several convicts out of jail. They also seem to have gotten money out of thin air . . . Sure, they have their many money making talents and investments. But where did the original funds come from?"

"Inheritance," I said with a shrug.  
"That's exactly what the public believes," Felix jumped in, "However we've found no records of Liam or his wife inheriting any money. Actually, there is no record of them until they became famous. So where did all the money come from and where did _they_ come from? We can't trace any ancestors or locate any immigration records."

"So we're talking a typical investigation but with big names?" I assumed, "I'll just do a little ghost walking to do a little perimeter sweep of their home, looking for anything sketchy. No big deal, right?"

"It's not that simple this time," Drana told me, "We don't want you just to see what's in the apartment . . . We want you to retrieve something from the apartment."  
That surprised me. "But . . . you know I can't touch anything in my spirit form . . . " I trailed off in confusion.

"We know," Drana said, "Which is why you'll have to go in person."  
"You're kidding," I said, pleasantly shocked. "You've got to be kidding."

Everyone around the table smiled brightly at me.  
"Nope," said Drana, "We're serious."

"No way! I actually get to go in the field?" I asked.  
"Yes," Felix said. His smile was huge.

"This is . . . amazing!" I exclaimed.  
"We thought you'd be excited," Drana said.

"Excited doesn't even cover it," I said, "You guys never let me in the field."  
"We figured this would be a good first field assignment for you," Felix said.

"What do I have to do?"  
"Sarah, give her a debriefing," Drana commanded.

Sarah stood up, a simple folder in her hands. "I assume you're familiar with the Stryker children. Vivianne and Ashton."  
"Uh the runway model and the movie star? Yeah, I'm pretty familiar," I said, "Most people are."

"Yes they're enrolling in Haven Academy," she continued.  
"I'm just gonna go ahead and assume that that's some local ritzy prep school," I interrupted.

"Basically," she said, "But the point is, now so are you."  
"You mean going to some private school?"

"Exactly . . . We're paying your tuition to Haven Academy," she told me.  
"Not sure how I feel about that, but continue," I said, making a 'go on' hand gesture.

"Yes well, your objective is to befriend Vivianne and get her to invite you over to her house."  
"That's it?" I demanded.

"Don't sell this mission short," Drana piped in, "It's not as easy as it sounds. You have to befriend one of the world's most spoiled girls. And we have reason to believe that she won't want anyone snooping around her house."

"What do I have to get anyway?"  
"We'll let you know when that happens," Felix said, "For now, just concentrate on the mission at hand."

"So basically, all I have to do is become besties with Vivianne Stryker? Is that it?" I wondered.  
"Mostly but not exactly," Drana informed me, "You also have to get in good with her brother Ashton. You don't have to be friends, just make sure he doesn't hate you. Vivianne and Ashton are joined at the hip. If he doesn't like you, she won't like you."

"Don't be a bitch to the Strykers. Got it," I said, nodding.  
"Good. Then we're done here," Felix said, "We'll call you with an update tomorrow."

"Wonderful," I said, getting up, "Now if you fine people will excuse me, I have to go home and look after my little brother who is sick with the flu. So good day."  
I left the conference room and took the elevator down to the main floor. I left the building and shuddered at the sudden cold.

I felt kind of annoyed that my first field assignment was something so . . . amateur. I mean, I'd been essential in some pretty famous and dangerous missions. Sure, I hadn't physically been apart of the action, but none of it would've been possible without me. But life, my life in particular, isn't fair I guess.

I mean seriously, I can never catch a break. First off, I'm sixteen years old and have never had a boyfriend. Seeing as I hardly have time for guys. Secondly, my grades aren't exactly straight A's, since it's impossible to study or do homework at my house with all the screaming going on. thirdly, I have anger issues and know how to kill a person eighteen different ways without getting blood on my hand. Which, as you probably imagine, means I have to have a hell of a lot of self control. Plus, my parents always scream at me since I'm gone all the time and I never tell them where I'm going.

But it's only because I have a sixth sense and work for the FBI.


	3. Step Two: Pretend To Be Someone I'm Not

**Step Two: Pretend To Be Someone I'm Not**

"As you can see Haven Academy is a very fine school. I think you'll . . ."

Unless she was planning on ending that sentence with _attempt to kill yourself, _she was probably wrong. I'd been at this fancy prep school a total of nineteen and a half minutes and I was already contemplating throwing myself out of the nearby window and down to the pretty little courtyard below.

In like the eighteen hundreds there'd been this writer guy who'd said that hell was a city. Well he was wrong. Hell is a fancy private school full of adolescent socialites and employees who were either old enough to be my great grandparents or so young they could be my siblings.

I was recieving a tour of the grounds by the ancient Headmistress Brown. She was a haggard old bag who was so old that vultures probably followed her around all day waiting for her to die.

She had led me around the school, pointing out different classrooms and telling me about all the famous people who had gone here. It was the middle of first period so all the halls were empty. I was pretty sure that she was almost done with her tour. Or at least I prayed she was.

She'd stopped outside a random classroom and turned to face me. I didn't like being so close to her, seeing as she smelled like a cross between a moldy basement and a rotting fish. I shuddered at the glimpses of her yellow rat teeth as she droned on and on miserably. She squinted at me through her glasses as if she couldn't see me. She'd probably been blinded by the big bang.

"This is your first period class Ms. Winters," she told me, gesturing to the door next to her, "History."  
She opened the door and stepped into the room, I followed.

Inside the classroom looked relatively like most classrooms I'd been in. There were desks and books, but they all looked brand new. And a teacher, but he looked like he could be my older brother. There was a window, but it showed a beautiful courtyard. There were students, but they were all dressed in their uniforms with fancy embellishments and five hundred dollar highlights.

"Students," said the old hag, "Say hello to our new student. Mary Winters. She just transferred here from Bentley Prep."  
Which was a lie of course. The guys back at headquarters had decided to make me a fake transcript with other famously fancy schools on it so I'd fit in better.

The class said hello to me in unison, with varying levels of apathy.  
"I know you'll show Ms. Winters what a lovely school we have here," the old lady said before disappearing.

The teacher, a dark haired guy in his early thirties who looked like he'd probably been a model in his recent past cleared his throat in the new silence.  
"Hello Mary," he said, "My name is Mr. Larkson and I'm delighted to have you in my class."

_And I'm delighted to be in your class, _I thought. Seriously, I was pretty sure I'd seen this guy in a Kelvin Klein ad once before.  
I just nodded in agreement, not wanting to get in trouble so early in the game.

"You can go sit in the empty seat in the back next to Vivianne," he said, "She's new as well."  
Score.

I simply nodded again and my eyes flickered to the back, where Vivianne sat at a table all by herself. Everyone else had probably been too intimidated to sit next to her yet. She'd only started this morning I knew, having had her tour yesterday.

I went to the back and sat down next to Vivianne. She looked exactly like she did on TV. I took in every inch of her, searching for anything that could be considered suspicious to put in my report.

Her long, dark brown hair was sleek and straight, with zero frizz. She had on platform heels that probably made her six inches taller and cost eight hundred dollars. She had her hair tucked behind her ear, allowing me to see that she had on big golden hoops with diamond studs running up her ear. She was wearing her uniform; the short white and grey plaid skirt and white button up with the grey tie.

Aside from the fact that I had a feeling her purse was made from crocodile, I couldn't find anything sinister about her.

She gave me a speculative glance up and down, judging me. I could tell. But I couldn't tell what her assessment was. I considered introducing myself but it seemed stupid. She'd probably think I was a dork. I had to make friends like normal kids . . . Now, how do normal teenagers make friends?

Mr. Kalvin Klein Model began teaching, going on about the Civil War. As much as I _love _learning, I made zero effort to even pretend to listen. I spent about five minutes contemplating what to say to Vivianne.

"Is it just me or is the headmistress older then this school?" I whispered to her finally. Knowing how shallow teen girls loved to make fun of people.  
Vivianne chuckled quietly under her breath. Another score.

"I mean seriously," I continued, "I bet if I told her to act her age she'd drop dead."  
Vivianne laughed again. "I bet she would," she whispered back.

God this was easy.

"They probably didn't even have history class back when she was a kid," I kept going.  
I considered throwing in something about an abacus but figured she wouldn't know what it was.

She laughed softly once again. This was such a piece of cake.  
_I might have to insult her so I can try and win her back, _I thought, _Just to keep things interesting._

"And Mr. Model teaching the class," I whispered, "I bet he's banging her. There's no way he's a real teacher, he must be sleeping with her for this job."  
Okay so that was mean. But I couldn't help it. I was on a roll.

"Eww," Vivianne shuddered and then giggled.  
"He'd be better off just being a guy prostitute," I continued, "He'd make just as much."

It went on like that for the remaining ten minutes of class. I came up with witty ways to make fun of the staff and the kids in the class. I wasn't really this mean by nature, but I had to make sure Vivianne liked me. And there were only two ways to do that; become her best friend by making her laugh, or by acting like some desperate fan girl and end up being her bitch. And that second option was never happening. Felix could pay me a million dollars and I wouldn't do it.

When the bell rang, we both rose. I had to remain aloof, and let her come to me, so I didn't say anything and just walked away. She didn't call after me and I hadn't expected her to. I knew how to wait.

I went to my next class, trig, and sat down at an empty desk near the back. Some people stared, obviously not recognizing me. But they all stopped staring at me when Vivanne walked in the room. For God's sake she was a five foot nine _supermodel _with the longest god damn legs I had ever seen. People were entitiled to stare, especially since she was an heiress of billions that would put Paris Hilton to shame.

Just as I'd planned, Vivianne did her runway model walk right over to my desk and sat down next to me.  
God people were so predictable.

Throughout the entire class, I didn't say a word to her. I texted under my desk so it would seem like I was popular and looked everywhere but at her. The whole hot-cold thing always got people interested. God, if I put this much effort into getting a boyfriend I'd be dating a Yankee.

When class ended I got up and 'accidently' dropped my gold pen. Yeah, the fancy pen was yet another idea from the boys back at headquarters.  
I made sure Vivianne saw me drop it and then walked away.

"Hey wait," she called and I turned around.  
"Yeah?" I asked nonchalantly.

She crouched down to pick my pen off the ground. It doubted she could bend over and touch the floor even if she wanted to. She had to have like three feet of legs or something ridiculous like that. Besides, bending probably wasn't the best idea considering how sluttishly short these skirts were. The girls here had probably petitioned for them.

"You dropped this," she said, handing it to me.  
"Thanks," I said, taking it from her and putting it into the Louis Vuitton tote bag that Drana had gotten me to fit in better.

Pretending to be rich was so much fun.

I turned around and started for the door without another word. I could hear her heels on the floor as she caught up to me.  
"I'm Vivianne, by the way," she added. She obviously wasn't used to people ignoring her.

"I'm Mary," I told her and continued on my walk to chemistry. I knew for a fact that that was her next class as well.  
"I just moved to New York," she said, seeming confused by my offhandish nature, "My dad bought this baseball team and wanted to come here."

"I love baseball," I said, which wasn't a lie actually. It seemed like a good response though. Instead of being all _OMG you're dad owns the Yankees that's soo epic! _I had to act like I was just as rich as she was.

"I'm really not that into it," she said with a shrug, "Although the guys are hot."  
"Can't argue," I admitted.

"So what do you have next?" she wondered.  
"Chem," I told her.

I took notice of how people stared at us as we walked through the halls. I smirked to myself. Now that I had a claim on Vivianne no one else would intrude. Vivianne was intimidating enough as it was, but if she was friendless someone would step up to the plate. But now they would assume that the two of us went _'way back.' _

"Me too," she enthused.  
"What a coencidence," I mumbled when it was everything but.

"I hate science," she continued, "I don't even get why people like us need to go to school. I mean what's the point? Between my trust fund and my modeling and my inheritance, I'm set for life. What do I need school for?"

"Beats me," I mumbled, "I'm pretty sure there's some kind of law about it though . . ."  
"Well whatever," she said easily, "So what do your parents do?"

"Daddy's a senator," I said easily.  
"Oh . . . I thought maybe you were _that _Winters," she said. "I didn't know he had kids."

There actually was a Senator Winters who was in with the FBI. He'd offered to pose as my father for this assignment which was what had convinced me that this mission really was important. But after meeting Vivianne I wasn't so sure anymore. She seemed too . . . Well not 'normal' normal . . . but normal for someone as rich as her.

"Yeah you could say I'm sheltered," I lied, 'He doesn't like me being in the spotlight."  
Saying I was sheltered was a huge lie. I already couldn't wait for this mission to be over so I could stop acting like some spoiled heiress. It was so annoying.

"I can't say the same for my dad," she said as we walked into chem and sat down at a table together.  
"Oh yeah, you're like a model right," I asked casually.

"Yeah," she said with a nonchalant shrug, "Me and my brother get out a lot."  
"Oh yeah I've heard of him . . . Asher right?" I got it wrong on purpose.

"Ashton," she corrected.  
"Oh right."

"Yeah he's going to school here too," she told me, "But he's a senior."  
"Cool," I mumbled.

"Yeah . . . Want to come to lunch with us?" she offered.  
If this got any easier a caveman could do it.

"Where are you going?" I asked.  
"We have reservations at Masa," she told me. It was the most expensive restaurant in New York

"Well I had plans to go meet a friend at Alain Ducasse . . ." I trailed off, "But I guess I can cancel. I haven't been to Masa in ages."  
Or ever actually.

"I've never been. The only times I'm ever in New York it's all modeling buisness," she informed me, "And none of them ever want to eat."  
I laughed for real. "What about you?" I asked, "Do you eat?"

"Oh I love to eat," she said, "Especially Japanese food . . . That's why I wanted to take my brother to Masa. I'm trying to get him into Japanese."  
"Japanese is alright," I told her, "But I prefer Italian."

Actually I preferred a burger and fries but I doubted Queen Vivianne had ever stepped foot inside of a McDonald's.

"Have you ever been to the Casa Lever on Park Avenue?" she asked, "My father took us there last night."  
"Oh I go there all the time," I said, "The desert was to die for."

Another lie. But I'd done weeks of research on all of the New York celebrity hot spots in preparation for this mission. So I knew all about the famous resteraunts. I even had some of the menus memorized. That's how serious I was about my job.

"Oh yes! I had the Casa Lever Chocolate," she told me, "It was amazing. I love the gelato."  
The class began then and the conversation came to an end.

I didn't listen to the beautiful female teacher (who I was pretty sure I'd seen on Grey's Anatomy before) drone on about chemical reactions. I was too busy preparing myself mentally for lunch, which was next period. I doubted that most kids stressed about lunch as much as I was.

But I had to go to lunch with a supermodel and a movie star and make them like me. I had to prepare. I went over in my head all I remembered about Masa. It was a Japanese restaurant with only twenty six seats, the initial fee was about three hundred dollars and there was no menu.

As the kids back in my public school would say, I be fucked.


	4. Step Three: Go With The Flow

**Step Three: Go With The Flow**

When lunch hour came I walked with Vivianne into the student parking lot. It was full of fancy BMW's and porsches that probably cost more then my house. I was suddenly glad I'd transferred in spring opposed to winter, seeing how cold I would be in the winter in this skirt.

"So what do you drive?" I wondered as we walked.  
"I don't," she told me, "But my brother drives a Pontiac."

"A G6?" I asked, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. God I loved cars . . . especially sports cars I couldn't afford.  
"I think so," she said, "Oh, there's Ashton."

I followed her gaze to the gorgeous cherry red Pontiac G6 convertible with the gorgeous movie star leaning against it. It was obviously none other then Ashton Stryker. I recognized him from several of the blockbuster movies he'd been in.

He was incredibly good looking of course, for God's sake he was a movie star. He had a relatively pale complexion and was tall like his younger sister. He had tousled chestnut curls on his head with blonde highlights that caught the sunshine. I wondered vaguely if they were natural or not. He was wearing his beige school pants, white button down shirt, black tie, and black blazer. He had sunglasses over his eyes that I bet cost hundreds of dollars.

Just like his sister, he didn't seem particularly suspicious.

"I see you've made a friend Vivie," he said when we approached him, lifting his glasses over his eyes and putting them on his head.  
"I see that you haven't," she noted.

"Actually, I have," he said, "But I only made reservations for three, knowing you would want to bring a friend."  
"Well aren't you a good big brother," she teased and I was surprised by how much their conversation reminded me of my brother and I.

"And you are obviously not a very good little sister . . . Seeing as you haven't introduced me to your new friend," he pointed out.  
"Oh right," she said, "Ash, this is Mary. And Mary, this is my brother Ashton."

Ashton actually held his hand out to me. But I guessed that that was what rich people did, so I shook it. I noticed that the watch on his wrist was diamond incrested. Fancy fancy.

"Nice to meet you Mary," he said, "So you'll be joining me and my sister at Masa this afternoon?"  
"I guess I am," I said as he opened the back door for me and Vivianne with a sweeping gesture.

Vivianne climbed in and I followed. When I passed Ashton on my way into the car he smiled his movie star's smile at me. I vaguely thought about how many thousands of teen fan girls would pass out if Ashton Stryker smiled at them.

He closed the door behind me and walked around to the drivers side. He climbed in and started the engine.  
"Which will it be ladies, top up or down?" he asked.

"Down. But go slow. I don't want to mess up my hair," Vivianne said, checking her reflection in her solid gold compact.  
"That sounds quite sexual . . . but alright," he said.

"Ashton, ew," she said, giving him a disgusted look, "Seriously. We have company."  
To be honest I'd been working hard not to say 'that's what she said.'

He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the streets. I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, reveling in the soft breeze that played with my hair and the familiar scent of smog and hot pretzels that was so common on the streets of New York.

"Hey Vivie, would you mind if we didn't go to Masa?" he asked out of the blue.  
"What? I made these reservations three weeks in advance!" she exclaimed, "Why don't you want to go?"

"Because I recently remembered that I utterly _despise _Japanese food. And I don't want to vomit in front of your new friend," he said, flashing me a teasing smile with the mirror.  
"Oh fine," she grumbled, "We don't have to go. But I don't know where you expect us to eat then. We don't have reservations."

"We can go back to the apartment and have Rita make us something," he suggested.  
_No. Fucking. Way,_ I thought. _This can not be that easy. It can't be._

_"_You know dad doesn't like us having friends over," Vivianne said.  
See?

"So?" he challenged.  
"Why do you get so much pleasure out of pissing him off?" she asked.

He glared at her with sudden with the mirror. "I don't," he said.  
Okay, so that whole conversation was a tad bit suspicious.

"Well . . . where are we going to eat then?" she asked again.  
"ESPN," I suggested without even thinking. I just loved that restaurant and it was impossible to get in there sometimes. I cursed myself mentally.

"The sports bar?" Vivianne asked in astonishment.  
Well that's two steps forward and one step back.

"I'm in," Ashton said immediately, his anger disappearing like that.  
"But that's like . . . a public place," she said, sounding confused.

"It's opening day," I said, mostly I was trying to explain my first outburst but I was pretty sure I'd just made it worse. Knowledge about sports was _not _apart of the rich girl handbook.

"Oh. My. God." he said, sounding amazed, "Vivianne, I can't believe it. You have a friend who _knows about sports. _I never thought I'd live to see the day."  
"Shut up," she snapped. "So what you guys are saying is that you want . . . to go to a sports bar?"

She looked at me like she was surprised of this desire in me. I could understand. Not only did I not look like a tom boy but it was also that I hadn't been _acting _like that around her. But trust me, I was. I so was.

"Very much so," Ashton said.  
"Yeah," I mumbled with a lot less enthusiasm or sarcasm, "It just seems like it'd be fun . . . I've never been."

Lie.

"Oh fine. Let's go," she sighed, "You always win anyway Ash."  
"She's right," he said, smiling, "I do."


	5. Step Four: Take A Break

**Step Four: Take A Break**

Anxiously, I clicked my heels together underneath the table. I was sitting next to Vivianne at this dinner party she'd invited me too. It'd been thrown by the mayor down at some ritzy banquet hall. We were sitting at a table with a bunch of adolescent billionaires.

"This food is almost as good as what they served at the Irvine charity dinner last month," Vivianne mused before taking a dainty bite of some kind of fancy chicken.  
"It's all gross," Ashton complained, throwing his fork down with a huff, from where he was seated across from us.

His date, the award winning actress, Indigo Weathers, laughed while Vivianne just rolled her eyes.  
"You have the appetite of a five year old," she scoffed, "You'd be perfectly happy living off of chicken fingers and juicy juice the rest of your life."

"For your information, I have broadened my horizons," he told her, "Instead of juicy juice, I have graduated to chocolate milk."  
"You have such refined taste," mocked Katherine Heights, the young romance novelist to his left.

"Very refined," he agreed.  
"So I'm guessing you _don't _want to try the caviar?" Indgio asked.

"Nope," he said, popping his lips on the _p_.  
"What about the mashed rutabaga?" she suggested.

"That's a vegetable right?" he said, "So I'm going to have to say no."  
"It's actually not half bad," said Vince Carver, the heir to the Carver pharmaceutical fortune.

"I'm sorry," I said all of a sudden, standing up abruptly, "I have to go."  
"Leaving in the middle of dinner? Where are your manners Ms. Winters?" Ashton teased, accusingly lifting his champagne class at me. It was his fourth.

"Ignore him," Vivianne said with a dismissive wave, "He's drunk."  
I did exactly that. "Anyway, like I was saying, I have a prior commitment. Sorry"

"Oh, well that's too bad," Vivianne said, "I guess I'll see you on Monday."  
"Right, see you then," I agreed, "Bye everyone."

They all said their farewells and I hastily exited the building. I stepped outside onto the busy, dark New York streets. Cars zoomed past, considering the surprisingly low amount of track in this area at the hour.

I stepped onto the edge of the curb, balancing on my heels, and flagged a taxi down as easily as whistling and raising one arm. One immediately stopped in front of me. I'd expected as much, seeing as I was coming out of the mayor's party dressed in an evening gown. The driver probably assumed I had money and was going far.

I slid into the back, cautious of my dress.  
"SoHo," I commanded, pulling some bills out of my purse and flinging them into the front seat.

"You overpayed," he said after he counted out the bills. He handed a twenty back to me.  
A honest cab driver, hmmm . . . Unexpected. "Keep it," I said. It wasn't my money anyway. Besides, he probably needed it more then me.

"Thanks miss," he mumbled, "Where to in SoHo? Restaurant? Shop? What?"  
"No. Just the residential area," I said, understanding his surprise.

"Oh okay," he mumbled, not asking anymore questions. I appreciated it. I really didn't want to have to explain why a girl who appeared to be a wealthy socialite wanted a ride to the SoHo residential area. SoHo wasn't a bad neighborhood anymore but it was more valued for it's touristy area. The residential area was usually reserved for artists living in lofts.

I gave him directions to my apartment building and he got there easily.  
"Thanks," I said, getting out of the cab.

"You're welcome miss," he said, "Have a nice night."  
"You too," I mumbled, closing the door behind me.

He drove away and I turned into my apartment building. There was no buzzing in and no doorman. The door wasn't even locked. The lobby looked more like a lounge, full of mismatching furniture and decoratively painted walls. A few of my neighbors were relaxing down here at the moment, sipping coffee from the Starbucks down the street.

"What a beautiful dress Mary. Did you go somewhere fancy tonight?" asked my neighbor, Violet. She appeared to be in her early thirties with blue streaks in her dark hair. She was a beautician who worked a few blocks away.

"Oh yeah. I went to a dinner party with some friends from my new school," I said.  
"I hardly recognize you anymore since you started going to that school," commented Tony, a twenty-something year old tattoo artist.

"I know. Dress codes suck," I agreed, "But it's a really great school."  
"Only the best for our Maribelle," Jackie teased. She was a sculptor and lived across the hall from me.

I laughed. "Yeah well I just came home to change before I go to another party in the Lower East Side." After a week at Haven Acadmey, I deserved some time to be the real me.  
"Now _that's _the Mary I know," Tony said.

The others laughed and I couldn't help but join in.  
"Yeah well I'll see you guys around," I said, heading for the stairs.

They called goodbyes and then started cracking up over something seconds later. I smiled to myself and shook my head. I ventured up three staircases to my floor. There were only four apartments on the whole floor. All lofts.

I grabbed my key out of my purse and unlocked the door to my apartment. We had a decent loft. The downstairs was all one big room. It was mostly a living room but it also blended in with our kitchen. We didn't have a dining room; we ate at the island. The first floor was very spacious. Hard wood floors and big, huge windows on the side opposite the door. We had some bright orange couches around the TV, and multicolored bean bag chairs clustered in one area.

If you looked up, you'd see the second floor with a railing to keep people from falling off. There was a spiral staircase in the corner that led up there. The second floor was just one long hall where all the bedrooms were.

Getting a water bottle out of the fridge was my little sister Cynthia. She was a freshman and had just turned fifteen. She was dressed in her usual assortment of original designs that consisted of a multitude of very bright colors. Her skinny jeans had holes in them with neon fishnets underneath. Her black boots reached up to her knee and had paint splattered on them; which she had done herself. Her white t-shirt had red splatters on it that looked like blood; I knew that she did that herself too. Her shoulder length blonde hair had the bottoms dyed pink.

"Going out?" I assumed.  
"Yep. Band Slam sorta thing goin' on," she told me, "Some kids I know are gonna be in it. How was your dinner party thing?"

"Good. Now I'm heading out to a party in the Lower East Side," I said.  
"Double life gettin' hectic?" she asked. Cynthia was one of the few people who knew about my job working for the FBI.

"Nope. I can handle it. So where's Randy?" I asked. Randy was my little brother and Cynthia's twin.  
"Upstairs. With a girl," she told me. "Proceed with caution."

"Thanks for the heads up," I said, "And behave yourself."  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she muttered dismissively as she walked past me and out the door.

I went upstairs and passed Randy's room, cringing at the moaning coming from the other side. I silently thanked Cynthia again for the warning. Normally, I would use my ghost walking powers to check on him, but since I knew what was going on, I knew not too.

You see, I've always had this ability. For as long as I can remember. I like to call it ghost walking. I can force my spirit to leave my body and then it can move freely without the restraints of my physical body. When I'm in my spirit form, I can walk through walls and go just about anywhere, like a ghost. But also like a ghost, I can't touch anything.

"Randy, Randy stop it!" squealed a giggly girl from the other side of my brother's door. I shuddered.  
"Mmmmm . . . You smell so good," my little brother purred. I gagged.

I pounded my fist on the door once. "Give it a rest Randy," I called.  
"Go away," he called back.

"Fine. I just thought you should know that mom's coming home early," I told him.  
I grinned to myself at the sounds of scrambling on the other side of the door. I could hear Randy whisper something to his little friend and then the door flew open.

Randy was almost two years younger then me but he was already my height, even with my heels on. He came out wearing only his boxers and a white wife-beater tank top. His blonde hair was all ruffled, his cheeks were flushed, and his blue eyes were narrowed at me.

"You're bluffing," he accused.  
"Am I?" I challenged.

"Mom said she wasn't going to be back until midnight."  
"Are you sure?" I teased.

"You're just screwing with me and I'm not falling for it," he snapped temperamentally and slammed his door in my face.  
"Fine . . . But remember that I warned you," I sung as I walked away.

He was right. I was totally just screwing with him.

I went into my bedroom and locked the door behind me. I stepped out of my black cocktail dress and put on a pair of baggy black cargo pants and a neon blue half t-shirt. I ditched the heels and replaced them with my skater sneakers. I took my blonde hair out of the fancy updo and let the loose curls cascade past my shoulders. I took off all my expensive jewelry and put in my belly button ring, my six cartilage earrings, and my snake bite lip rings. Then I put on my favorite black and blue striped beanie and I was ready to go.

I left the loft and went back down to the lobby. When I got there I found my best friend PJ, talking with my neighbors. She was dressed as per her usual; grey skinny jeans and a black tank top with chains around her neck, converse on her feet, and leather cuffs around her wrists. The sideswept bangs of her dyed black hair were blood red and she had a ring in her eyebrow.

"Belle!" she exclaimed when she saw me, running over to me and hugging me painfully tight. "I missed you so much!"  
"You're going to miss me even more if I die of suffocation from this super tight hug," I gasped out.

She released me. "It would serve you right for leaving me for some preppy school," she pointed out.  
"PJ, you know I had to," I said, pitching my voice lower. PJ also knew about my FBI job.

"I know," she grumbled, "But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it."  
"Neither am I," I said, "But once I finish the . . . assignment I'll come back."

"And how long will that be?" she whined.  
"Could be next week. Could be next month. Could be next fall," I sighed, "I don't know yet. But I think I'm making good progress."

"Well whatever. Let's just not worry about boring high society shit and just go par-_tay_," she cheered, doing a little dance move.  
"You sound so retarded when you say that," I informed her, shoving her shoulder as I passed.

"Like I give a fuck," she said, catching up to me.  
"Maybe you should start giving a fuck," I suggested, waving goodbye to my neighbors as we left the building.

"Don't turn all snobby on me now," she warned as we began our walk to the Lower East Side.  
"Does that sound like me?"

"No but I have to be careful. You know those rich types are contagious," she said.  
"Sure they are PJ," I mumbled, being sarcastically patronizing.

"So how are they exactly? The rich kids I mean," she wondered.  
"Eh. They're okay," I said with a shrug, "As long as they think you're one of them."

"What about Vivianne and Ashton?" she asked.  
"Vivianne's actually pretty nice. Shallow but not bad," I said honestly.

"And Ashton?"  
"Super hot and funny but he's such a spoiled party boy," I told her.

We went on like that for the remainder of the walk. I told her what it was like pretending to be rich and going to all the fancy New York hot spots. And she told me how things were going at school and how all my normal friends were.

We arrived at a run down brick apartment building a while later, and went up to our friend Vince's apartment. It was obvious that there was a party going on here; there was loud music coming from inside. I assumed that the neighbors would complain if they thought it would do any good.

Someone let us in and when I got inside, it was apparent that Vince's parents were truly away for the weekend. It was dark and the apartment was packed with teenage bodies. We immediately pushed past people to get to Vince's little kitchen. There were kids in their too, drinking the beers that were layed out on the counter.

"Hey Mary!" exclaimed Vince, who was drinking a beer with a group of friends all of whom I recognized.  
"Hey," I said. The walls around the kitchen made it possible to have a conversation at a semi reasonable volume. Not having to exactly shout over the music.

"It's been so _boring _without you around," he complained, handing me and PJ beers.  
"Yeah. I can't believe you're going to some stupid private school," Zach chimed in.

"I know but my parents forced me. I'll bitch at them to let me transfer back for senior year," I told them, using the edge of the counter to pry the cap off of my beer. I did the same for PJ.  
"Good," Vince said, "Chem is such a drag without you there driving Parker crazy."

"Well the old bag doesn't know how to teach," I said with a shrug, taking a swig from my beer.  
"True, true," Zach said, "So you gonna play beer pong with us or what?"

"In a minute," I said, taking another drink. "I wanna dance first. C'mon PJ." I loved to dance and I hadn't the chance in weeks. Getting ready for my assignment left no room for partying.  
PJ was chugging half her beer but stopped and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand when she saw me looking at her. "Sure thing."

We left the kitchen and went back into the main room to dance. _"We R Who We R" _by Kesha was playing, which was a decent dancing song. We finished off our beers as fast as we could and then disposed of the empty bottles. We began to dance, mostly with each other because that was the most fun. But we also periodically danced with guys who were up for the challenge.

I was having an amazing time. It felt so good to be back in my true scene. It felt great to be myself. With my real clothes, and piercings, and beanies. I was having an awesome time showing off my dancing skills with PJ, getting drunk, and hanging out with my real friends.

It was great to nearly die of laughter every five seconds. It was great to beat everybody at beer pong. It was great to be able to curse my head off and make sexual jokes without worrying about being judged. Everything about it was perfect. Perfect for me. But I knew it couldn't last. Sooner or later, I'd have to go back to being someone I wasn't.

Which, by the way, totally sucked sometimes.


	6. Step Five: Interpret Cryptic Warning

**Step Five: Interpret Cryptic Warning**

That Monday morning I sat at the island in our loft, eating breakfast. I was the first one in my family ready, seeing as I had to leave earlier then everybody else. Haven Academy was practically on the other side of Manhattan. I had to leave an hour before school even started.

I sat at the island alone for a bit, drinking my coffee and having my french toast that I had made. The first person to come down was Cynthia, dressed in a black tutu, tattered fishnets, and a neon green tank top with a black skull and crossbones on it. The bottoms of her hair were now green. She was always dying them. But pink was her usual standby.

"Morning Belle," she greeted me, grabbing a mini frosted cupcake out of the box on top of the fridge.  
"Is that really the best breakfast?" I asked.

"It's the best tasting," she said with a shrug, licking the pink frosting off of the cupcake.  
She perched herself lightly on the counter as she continued to eat her cupcake.

A moment later Randy came down, dressed in jeans and a blue and white striped polo shirt. As you can see, him and Cynthia differ in their opinions on style. They differ in a lot of ways. The only thing they have in common is a birthday. They look alike sure, but just as siblings, you wouldn't think that they were twins. Randy could probably pass for sixteen while Cynthia barely looked fifteen.

"Need. Coffee," he said when he entered the kitchen, going straight for the coffee pot.  
"You know Mom doesn't like you drinking coffee," Cynthia sung.

"And _you _know that Mom doesn't like _you _sitting on the counter or eating cupcakes for breakfast," he pointed out as he poured his coffee, "So yeah. Suck it."  
"Is that what you told Melissa last night?" she teased, "Or is that what she told you?"

I shuddered.

In a very typical-Randy move, he poured his hot coffee all over Cynthia's head. I wasn't that surprised, but seeing as I was the big sister, I stood up and exclaimed "Randal!" as if I was.  
Cynthia sat there frozen for a moment. Her expression was one of mortification.

Smirking to himself, Randy saluted her and turned around. He grabbed his bag off the floor and walked out the door. About three seconds later, Cynthia unthawed.  
"I'm gonna kill him!" she screamed, jumping off of the counter and running for the door.

I went after her and grabbed her by the wrist. "Cyn, don't you think you should take another shower and change first?" I suggested.  
She looked down at her wet clothes. "God damn him! Does he even realize how much planning I put into my outfits. I dyed my hair for this tank top!"

"Randy just doesn't understand clothes," I soothed, wiping coffee off of her face with a towel.  
"That's cause he's too busy taking his off all the time . . ." she muttered.

"Yes yes, we all know Randy's a whore," I said, annoyed, "But do we _have to _talk about it all the time?"  
"Yes," she said, "Because it bothers him and makes you squirm."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "You know, maybe if you didn't constantly torment Randy, he wouldn't pour coffee over your head. Ever think of that?"  
She shrugged. "I did . . . But I can't give it up. It's too much fun to annoy him about his sex life."

"Well believe it or not," I told her, "_I _don't enjoy hearing about my little brother having sex."  
"Is it because you're not having any?" she asked.

Yes, my little brother has more sex then me. It's not my fault. I work for the FBI for Christ's sake, that doesn't leave too much time for hooking up. But it does leave some . . . Which I have taken advantage of in the past. In fact, I'd taken advantage of it at Vince's party on Friday.

"You know who else has sex Cynthia," I deflected, "Mom and Dad."  
"Ewwwwww!" she screamed and ran up the stairs.

I laughed and sat back down to finish my breakfast. Once I was done I grabbed my designer bag, and left the apartment. Downstairs, none of my neighbors were present in the lobby. They were all at work. They only canoodled down here at night.

I left the building and was about to hail myself a cab when a black town car pulled up right in front of me. I immediately got in. Now, that may sound stupid, but even though the windows were heavily tinted, I knew exactly who was in this car. I recognized the licence plate. I'd been picked up by this mysterious cars many times before.

I got in the back seat and closed the door behind me. The driver was dressed in a very cliche chauffeur outfit; black suit, white gloves, and even the hat. Sitting in the back seat next to me was Drana, her sleek short black hair perfectly straight and dressed in a perfectly tailored power suit. She was stirring some kind of coffee drink with the little sticky thing.

"What a lovely surprise Drana," I said.  
"I surely hope you've learned to anticipate my random visits by now Maribelle," she said primly, "If you're in the field, you can't afford to be surprised."

I know she seems cold, but she loves me. I can tell.

"Yeah, down at Haven Academy you never know which one of your classmates is gonna end up in rehab next. You gotta be ready for anything," I muttered sarcastically.  
"Exactly," she said, ignoring my sarcasm. "Do you have my reports with you?"

"Right here," I said, reaching into my Louis Vuitton bag and handing her my spiral notebook. Now, that notebook wasn't full of trig notes and doodles, it was full of "crucial" data for this case. Or in other words, every single thing I'd noticed about the Strykers that _I_ thought was stupid but Drana had insisted was nessecary. When Vivianne had texted under her desk in history on Tuesday, I recorded it. When Ashton had dropped his credit card in Masa on Wednesday, I recorded it. When they got to school three minutes late on Thursday, I recorded it. When Vivianne lost an earring at the banquet on Friday, I recorded it. I recorded _everything. _

Drana flipped through the twleve pages of records I'd gathered in just five days, and I watched her with apathy.  
"Interesting, interesting," she mumbled before shutting it promptly and handing it to me. "Make me a copy of that," she instructed.

"Oh . . .kay," I mumbled, putting it back in my bag.  
"Now I have a new task for you today," she said.

"Bitchin'," I said, "What?"  
"Do you know what these are?" she asked, holding out her hand. In it were three extremly tiny metal devices with blinking red dots on them.

"Trackers," I said automatically, "What do you want me do with these?"  
"I want you to attach one of these to a personal item of both Vivianne and Ashton," she told me, plopping them into my hand gently.

I really wasn't that surprised. Drana kept treating this case like it was as high-stakes as our usual work. In my oppionon, it was all pointless. Vivianne and Ashton seemed harmless to me. If I didn't know better, I would've said that Drana and Felix had just made up the whole thing about the Strykers to make me feel like I was on a real assignment. But I did know better. Felix didn't like deceiving his own employees, but I wouldn't put it past Drana. She was all about the mind games.

"What do I do with the third one?" I asked.  
"Attach it to Ashton's car," she told me. "I've had the signals from these trackers programmed into your cellphone so you can know where the Strykers are at all times. Alright?"

"Okay . . . I can do that . . . I don't think it's nessecary, but I can do it," I said honestly, putting the trackers carefully into a safe compartment in my purse.  
"Soon you'll see that this isn't a game Maribelle," she said, sipping her drink, "Soon you'll see."

"Kudos on being all mysterious just then," I said, giving her a thumbs up, "Major props. I got chills."  
"One day Maribelle . . ." she sighed, "One day you'll see that you're not the only one."

I turned to look at her and raised an eyebrow. She wasn't looking at me though. She was stirring her drink with her eyes closed, looking peaceful.  
"One of what?" I asked.

She didn't look at me and she didn't say anything.


End file.
